HMBTBF
by Keesha
Summary: #HettyAppreciationWeek . Written for Hetty Appreciation Week. Hetty plus Mechanical Bull plus Tequila equals Bar Fight. This is set back in Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

_Written for Hetty Appreciation Week. Hetty + Mechanical Bull + Tequila = Bar Fight. This is set back in season one so I tried to stick to the canon at that point of the series. I did assume while the rest of the team doesn't know Granger, Hetty does know him. Romania hasn't happened and Callen is still pretty clueless about his past. Sorry, no Deeks or Nell at this point. When I watched the scene, I got the impression Hetty, Callen and Sam knew what happened but not Nate or Kensi, so the story revolves around the first three characters. I tried my best to keep it Hetty-centric but ... well lets say I wasn't totally succesful. _

_I hope you enjoy. This was written a lot quicker than I normally work so the level of writing is not quite what it should be; deadlines aren't my friends. Will be posted in usual style; one chapter a day, if life cooperates, for a total of 6 chapters. As always, I look forward to your comments. It really encourages me and improves my stories._

PROLOGUE

Hetty sat at her massive, elegant, dark, wooden desk silently chiding herself for being a sentimental old ninny. If Assistant Director Granger could see her now, he'd slowly shake his tonsured pate, scowl and tell her she had finally lost it. Given her state of mind tonight, she had her doubts she'd be able to come up with witty repartee to go back at him. Perhaps, for once, the man would be correct in his analysis of her state of mind. Maybe her mind had slipped its tracks.

If the truth were to be acknowledged, she was being overly sentimental tonight; uncharacteristically so and very un-Hetty. She was being a fool in the fact that the event that was making her melancholy had transpired more than forty years ago; yet tonight, it still had the ability to create a great riff on her soul.

The first salty drop of moisture slid down the grooves in her time-worn face and stealthily plopped onto the object she was holding in her trembling, spotted hands. Allowing the flood gates to fully open, she cried quietly in the semi-darkness that surrounded her desk, knowing she was being foolish, not caring, and feeling very alone in this world.


	2. Chapter 2

With a heart-felt groan, Callen e-signed his weekly action report, otherwise known as the War and clicked on the send icon, transporting the e-paper on its merry way. The middle-aged blond was pretty sure the report was a waste of his time and effort, and that no one else actually read it, but the wrath of Hetty for not completing the War was worse than the pain of doing it, he surmised. Callen was pretty sure the War's arrival at its next destination was just annotated by some pencil pusher further up the food chain before being placed in a circular file cabinet, otherwise known as the trash can. Though to be technically accurate, it was probably shredded. It was always important to remember good OPSEC procedures no matter what the task.

Leaning back in his ergonomic office chair, he stretched his tense back muscles, which were tight from hunching over his keyboard. It had been a long week and his team deserved and needed the rest of the upcoming three-day, holiday weekend that was upon them. In honor of holiday, Hetty had hustled the staff out the door early, letting them get a head start on their three days of freedom not to mention the mind-numbing, LA, end-of-day traffic.

Callen had remained behind since he had no particular plans for the weekend. Sam had invited him to join his family on Saturday, for a day at the beach, followed by an authentic New England clam bake. Ever the wisenheimer, Callen had felt the need to remind his partner they lived on the West Coast, not East Coast. This had been promptly rebutted by Sam, who claimed that a clam bake could be done on any coast or in the mid-west for that matter, as long as one had the right ingredients and fixed them appropriately. Sam then had launched into a dissertation on the proper way to conduct a New England style clam bake which had turned into a lively three-way debate when Renko and Eric decided they had to weigh-in too.

Callen, personally, had found the whole conversation rather amusing. Renko was raised by a Jewish family that had kept kosher, so clam bakes weren't exactly part of his food heritage. Eric was a 100 % California boy and while he was an expert on many things, Callen was willing to bet New England clam bakes weren't one of them.

Then there was the third component of the trio, Sam. While technically Sam was from the East Coast, having been born and raised in NYC, Callen doubted his knowledge-base too. Last time Callen had checked, the 'C' in NYC stood for 'City' not 'Clam', which meant it was probably not the clam bake capital of the world. However, the three of them argued vigorously, each defending his own point-of-view.

Kensi had been smart one and had left immediately upon hearing Hetty's release order so Callen was left alone to suffer thru the inane clam bake dispute. He wondered how mad Hetty would get if he pulled the fire alarm to break up the discussion. With his luck, it wouldn't stop the trio.

Callen wasn't exactly sure when he had been roped into attending Sam's shindig, but he was pretty sure it was during a weak moment, after he decided Hetty would not take kindly to an impromptu fire drill, and in hopes it would end the meaningless conversation. After an eternity, when the clam bake triad had finally ceased and desisted and left, it had been so peaceful and quiet, Callen almost enjoyed tackling his mountain of paperwork alone.

A glance at his watch showed it was nearly nine and his stomach gave a plaintive growl to remind him of its needs. Shutting down his laptop, Callen grabbed his bag off the floor and headed for the door. A faint pool of light from Hetty's desk lamp caught his eye, as he walked thru the otherwise dark building. He was surprised; he thought she had left hours ago.

Popping up the three stairs to her office, Callen approached her desk, noting she had her head was bowed and was staring at something clutched in her hands which he couldn't identify from his position. He thought he detected a small sniffle, as if Hetty had been crying. His suspicions were confirmed when she slowly lifted her head as if it weighed hundred pounds, and he was able to see her red-rimmed eyes behind her thick glasses.

Genuine concern tinged his voice as he quietly asked, "Everything alright Hetty?"

Hetty was startled to see him and surprised he was still here. She thought he had left with Sam. She was distracted tonight, she thought ruefully, to lose track of her brood.

Hetty tenderly placed the object she was holding down on her desk and Callen could now see it was a picture, though he was too far away to see what portrayed. Removing her glasses, the Ops Manager produced a tissue and dabbed at her watery eyes. "I'm afraid you caught me at a weak moment, Mr. Callen."

Placing his bag on the floor, Callen sat in the brown wicker chair on the far side of her large desk. This behavior was so unlike Hetty, that Callen wasn't going anywhere until he was satisfied that his boss, whom he was fond of, was Ok. "Hetty, I don't think you ever have weak moments. Maybe slightly less than god-like ones on a few rare occasions, but the word weak and Hetty never belong in the same sentence."

Hetty ran a wizened finger over the glass protecting the picture that lay on her desk. "Getting lost in the past can make fools of us all."

Callen leaned back in the chair as he contemplated her pronouncement. He felt he understood Hetty's statement intimately, having spent his whole life trying to find his past and often doing what might be perceived as 'foolish things' trying to ascertain the truth. Leaning forward again, Callen purposely extended his tanned hand towards the picture. "May I?"

After sliding the picture across her desk towards her Special Agent in Charge, Hetty sat back in her chair and fiddled with the slightly damp tissue, her eyes downcast. Callen carefully picked up the framed photo and silently studied it for a moment. It showed two young women, standing arm in arm, smiling for the camera. If Callen had to guess, he'd say the women were in their twenties. A furrow creased Callen's brow as he further examined the picture. The two women bore a striking resemblance to each other, probably twins, and Callen was pretty sure one of the women was a young Hetty; but who was the doppelgänger?

Raising his head, Callen tilted it to the left and cocked an eyebrow at his boss. "You and..." he left the question open-ended for her to fill in the blank.

Hetty raised her downcast eyes and met his inquiring gaze. "My sister. Sylvia. My twin sister."

Surprise registered clearly on Callen's face and in his voice. "You have a twin sister, Hetty?"

"Had, Mr. Callen. She's gone now." A small sad smile crept across her face. "She passed forty-two years ago this very night."

Reaching forward, Callen carefully stood the picture back on the desk at an angle so the contents could be seen by both him and Hetty. Dropping his hands into his lap, he adopted a casual posture in his chair. "Wanna talk about it? I'm no Nate but I can listen and usually nod in the right places."

"Not much to tell really," she slowly replied while giving her eyes one last dab with the tissue.

Callen gave a little laugh. "I don't know about that. You have a twin sister. I thought they broke the mold after you or knowing you, you broke the mold yourself," he joshed before turning serious again. "How did she die?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, Hetty studied the picture as she told her tale. "It was really quite ordinary considering our line of work. A car accident." Her voice broke and she paused for a moment to compose herself before continuing. "A random dumb event that ended my sister's life. Sylvia had such great potential."

"Just like her twin sister," Callen injected and the corners of Hetty's mouth up-turned ever so slightly.

"She was driving home from work one night on a twisty road; a road she had travelled hundreds of times. It was raining. Her front tire blew out. She lost control of the car and it plunged over the edge of an embankment." Hetty ran a gnarled finger over the outline of the picture again. "I always hoped her death was swift and that she didn't suffer."

Callen was intrigued by his boss's revelation. "Was your sister an agent too?"

"Yes, though she never cared as much for field work as I did. She preferred behind the scenes. Seemed I craved the limelight more than she," Hetty ruefully replied. "Don't get me wrong, she was a big risk taker in her own right, always one to push the edge. She put her all in everything she did." Silence reigned for a while before Hetty spoke again. "I think many of the rather reckless things I did in my career, after her death, were because of her."

Callen wasn't sure he was following her conversational thread. "How so?"

Hetty tapped her index finger on the glass. "What they say about twins is true, or at least it was for Sylvia and me. We were very close, had a tight bond. At times, I felt we could read each other minds."

Callen laughed at that statement. "Your ability to read minds has nothing to do with your twin sister. It's because your ancestors were witches."

"Cheeky, Mr. Callen," she admonished though with no level of seriousness. She picked up her tale again. "When she died, a part of me died too. I think that was the moment in life I stopped fearing death. In a strange way, my sister's death made me a better field agent, allowing me to get past my fears and do, what the job often requires to be done."

Callen mulled that comment over in his mind, understanding it on varying levels. Losing one's fear of death is often what separated the merely good agents from the great, as long as it wasn't coupled with recklessness; then it became a liability. It had often been suggested to Callen that he crossed that line and he wouldn't deny it; but he had his reasons for doing it just as Hetty had hers.

Hetty dabbed at her eyes again. "So silly of me to get sentimental after all these years, but for some reason it hit me hard this year."

"Getting sentimental is not silly," Callen returned with some force of conviction. They sat in contemplative silence for a few more moments staring at the picture. "We need to do this right."

Hetty raised her eyes from the picture of her twin and glanced over at her agent and friend. "Do what right?"

Callen evenly returned her gaze. "Honor your twin sister's memory."

Hetty leaned back in her chair and studied the picture again. "Do you have something in mind?"

A small frown crossed Callen's face. "Our lives depend on us being in control, to gain the upper hand in a situation."

Hetty nodded her head in agreement.

"So let's lose it for a night," Callen said with conviction.

Hetty still wasn't sure she was following where Callen was trying to lead her so she made an educated guess. "Control?"

"Yep." Rising to his feet, he added. "Bar. Booze..."

Hetty interrupted him before he could finish. "Please don't tell me the third word is 'Broads'," she finished with a slight upturn of her lips.

"I wasn't going too, though it does sound like a line from an old movie." Callen held up a quick hand to forestall his boss. "Please, no movie star stories."

Hetty, who had been about to open her mouth, closed it decisively. "Do you have a locale in mind? If not, I hear there is an interesting bar down on Sunset. They have a mechanical bull."

Callen crossed his arms over his chest, frowning slightly. "Do I have to wear a cowboy hat?"

"Not if you don't want to, though I am sure I have one in wardrobe," Hetty replied rising from seat.

Callen grimaced. "Pass."

"Whose car shall we take?" she asked as she moved to collect her purse.

Callen grabbed his bag off the floor. "Neither. We'll take a cab. We shouldn't be driving if we're drinking and I don't want to be the designated driver. I'll have a cab meet us a few blocks from here."

"Excellent idea." Hetty concurred as she hefted her bag on her shoulder.

Callen eyes wandered to what secretly, in his mind, he had dubbed as 'Hetty's magical satchel'. "I also think we should secure our weapons, here."

"You want me to go out naked?" Hetty exclaimed with disbelief.

Callen uncomfortably shifted his weight between his legs. "That's not quite how I would have phrased it, but yes, I think might be safer."

"Mr. Callen, even totally plastered, I would never discharge my weapon without a good reason," she admonished him.

"Yeah, but if you were drunk, would your definition of a good reason be, well, good?" he countered.

That question caused Hetty a moment of hesitation; then she began to rummage in her purse. "You may have a point." She started pulling various weapons out of her bag and neatly laying them on her desk blotter.

Callen couldn't help gawking at the sheer number of items she disgorged for her purse. "Do I need to pat you down too?" he teased when she came to a halt.

"Borderline cheeky, Mr. Callen. I suggest you go secure your service piece in your locker." As Callen turned to walk away, she added, "And don't forget the one strapped to your ankle." She could tell by the way his shoulders twitched she was correct in her assumption he was wearing it. As he started off walking again she called out, "And the knife too."

Callen halted, turned and faced her. "Really?"

"Have no fear. You are dangerous, even totally unarmed." She dropped her own two knives on the desk. "As am I. Trust your training. Besides, what could possibly happen in a cowboy bar?"

Callen burst out laughing as he started to head for his locker again. "With you Hetty," he predicted correctly, "anything."


	3. Chapter 3

As the blue and white cab pulled up to the curb, Callen eyed the bar with misgivings. The outside of the building was adorned with a series of neon signs depicting a dancing cactus, a martini swizzling coyote, and a cowboy waving his hat astride a bucking bull. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to the small bar by the marina?"

"This will be fine," Hetty said enthusiastically as she exited the cab. Sighing quietly, Callen paid the driver before joining her on the curb.

"Let's go inside," Hetty said clapping her hands together in anticipation and heading off towards the entrance.

Callen noticed there was no line out front to get in and he took that as a good sign this place wasn't too pretentious; he only did grandiose joints on the government's credit card.

They entered through a set of normal glass doors, into a small foyer which had distressed, wooden plank floors and walls. On the far side of the vestibule there was a second set of doors that were fashioned to resemble the old-fashion, half-height, swinging, saloon doors straight out of the wild, wild, west.

Hetty's height made it impossible for her to see over the top of the doors, though if she bent down a bit, she could probably peer underneath. Callen, on the other hand, could easily see over the top of the doors and a sea of cowboy hats met his gaze as far as the eye could see. He was about to protest again when Hetty plowed forward and pushed her way thru the swinging doors into the bar leaving him no choice but to follow.

The interior of the bar was done up like an old-time saloon straight out of a late night western. Callen wondered if the owner had raided the back-lot storage warehouses, at a movie studio, to outfit the place. Being that it was a holiday weekend, the place was fairly packed. "Bar or table?" Callen inquired of his diminutive partner.

"Table preferably," Hetty answered as she scanned the room. "Over there," she said pointing to an empty square table towards the back of the establishment.

Hetty and Callen slowly made their way thru the crowd towards the empty table. A couple of cowgirls dressed in short, tight, leather fringed skirts gave Callen the once over as he passed by them. Hetty was also attracting some attention, but more of the idol curiosity kind as she didn't exactly fit in with the crowd.

Instinctively, Callen and Hetty both headed for the chair at the table which allowed their back to be to the wall. When they realized they were both heading towards the same object, there was an awkward moment before Callen made a little mock bow. "Ladies first."

He reached out and held the chair for Hetty and she gracefully alighted. Once she was seated, Callen settled himself into the chair to her left which offered the second best coverage. The tables in this section were up on a small raised platform which afforded a good view of the formal bar area to the right and the infamous mechanical bull to the left.

The bar counter was made of wood and the finish was so shiny it looked like the coat of a wet seal. Every now and then the barkeep would send a mug full of beer sliding down its slippery surface to its intended consumer. The glass slid smoothly and easily down the highly polished length of the bar.

To the left stood the huge, black mechanical bull. The inanimate object appeared every bit as forbidding as the real thing. The area around it was surround by a faux wooden, corral-style fence upon which patrons leaned watching the beast spin, buck then dislodge its riders. The floor between the bull and the fence was covered in thick matting, which ruined the Old West appearance slightly, but probably helped with the insurance premiums of the modern world.

Hetty clapped her hands in glee again as she surveyed their surroundings. "This looks like fun!" she exclaimed as she tracked the current wanna-be-cowboy being sent flying thru the air by the black mechanical beast. The lanky blond landed on the padded area surrounding the bull with an audible grunt that made Callen wince in sympathy; that had to hurt.

A tall, buxom, brunette waitress, wearing daisy-dukes and a red checkered shirt tied around her belly, sashayed up to their table. "Welcome to Cacti," she greeted them enthusiastically with a slight Texas twang. "My name is Susie. What can I get ya'll?"

'Out of here,' Callen thought silently in his head.

Hetty looked over at Callen who indicated with a little head nod for her to choose. "In keeping with our surroundings, let's go with tequila. Bring a bottle of your best rot gut and two glasses please."

"Yes ma'am," Susie perkily responded and after bestowing another big smile on Callen, which he slightly acknowledged, she disappeared to fill their order.

Hetty refocused her attentions on the bucking bull, while Callen did a quick scan of the place. It was an eclectic crowd consisting of all ages, genders and races. More than half of the patrons were sporting a western-style cowboy hat and the rest had some sort of western paraphernalia such as a yoked shirt, boots, bandana or Texas-sized belt buckle. Hetty, in her navy blue tailored business suit, definitely did not fit the mold. Callen, in his Levi's and button-down blue shirt, blended a bit more.

"It does look like fun doesn't it, Mr. Callen?" Hetty repeated to her distracted table mate.

The blond glanced over to see to what she was referring and found her eyes were tracking the bull. "I guess it depends on your definition of fun," Callen slowly replied as another hopeful rider bit the dust, landing rather ungracefully.

"Huh. That had a hurt," Hetty remarked casually and accurately.

Callen couldn't help smirking. "Yeah. I think I have been thrown out of moving cars and landed better than that."

Further conversation was halted by the arrival of the Susie with their drink order. She placed two cocktail napkins, adorned with stylistic cacti, on the table along with two shot glasses, and a bottle of tequila.

"Thank you, my dear," Hetty acknowledged the waitress without removing her eyes from the mechanical devil. "Can anyone ride the bull?" Hetty questioned, switching her gaze from the bull to Susie, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"Anyone?" Susie repeated Hetty's inquiry with a perplexed tone. She looked over at Callen in askance and Callen simply tilted his head slightly to confirm he too was waiting for her answer.

"Yes, Susie," Hetty said focusing the waitress' attention back on her. "Can anyone ride the bull?"

"Ah yes, I guess," Susie answered though her tone and facial expression remained dubious.

"So there are no weight, height or age restrictions?" Hetty innocently continued her line of questioning.

It was very obvious what was going thru poor Susie's mind. She couldn't believe the older, petite, well-dressed woman in front of her wanted to ride the bull and it left her tongue-tied. Finally, Susie untangled her thoughts and her tongue and decided to go with the flow; her cheerful demeanor returned. "That's right. Anyone who is brave enough can go for a ride on Ralph."

That caught Callen's attention; not that anyone could ride, but that the bull had a name and not a very scary one at that. "Ralph?"

Susie's pearly whites flashed at Callen. "Yes siree. Ralph the bull."

"Your mechanical bull's name is Ralph?" Hetty asked with an arched eyebrow and an amused intonation.

"Yes ma'am," Susie reconfirmed.

Callen sat back in his chair and his smirk became a full-fledged grin. "That's not a very scary name."

Susie turned up her mega-watt smile. "Named after the owner's son. Actually, if you met Ralph, the son, you might change your mind. Oh, there he is, over by the bar." Susie pointed and Callen looked in that direction.

Leaning against the far end of the highly polished oak bar was a man who was easily 6' 4" with a physique that put Sam to shame. The man had dark curly hair covering his head and most of the rest of his exposed skin. Callen quickly decided he wouldn't want to get into a disagreement with Ralph; bull or boy. Ralph, the human, looked like he could toss Callen across the room with one hand, while holding a beer in the other and not spill a drop.

"Huh," Hetty grunted. "You're right. Ralph is scary." Callen wasn't sure if she was referring to Ralph the man or Ralph the bull.

"See. I told you. Ralph is our keeper of the peace," Susie informed them.

"The bouncer?" Callen stated flatly, translating the cowboy-speak and Susie nodded.

Hetty eyed Ralph, the man. "He seems well suited to the role. Well Susie," she said turning her gaze back to the waitress. "My colleague and I will be sure to abide by the rules of your establishment. We wouldn't want to tangle with Ralph would we Callen?"

Still not sure if Hetty was referring to bouncer or the bull, G went with a generic grunt. If truth be told he didn't want to get near either of them.

Susie gave them one last blindingly white smile before leaving to attend to her other customers. Hetty opened the tequila and poured a generous splash in each glass before handing one to Callen, who took it with a little salute. "To Sylvia," he toasted raising his glass higher.

"To Sylvia," Hetty affirmed.

On the silent count of three, they threw back the tequila, and then returned the empty glasses to the table top where Hetty swiftly refilled them and they tossed another one back.

The tequila hit Hetty's empty stomach and she felt a little flare of warm as well as the beginning of a slight buzz. Callen had a weight advantage on Hetty, but his stomach was also empty and after a few more shots, he was definitely moving south of the border of sober. When Susie showed up at their table again, Hetty inquired if Cacti served any type of food and Susie happily brought them a menu.

The food on the menu was simple bar style eats and after reviewing the selections, they decided on sliders and nachos. Callen caught Susie's eye and she sauntered back to their table to take their order.

"How spicy would you like Cooky to make your nachos?" Susie asked pen poised to record the answer.

Hetty glanced over at Callen, who shrugged and again left the decision up to her.

"Spicy as a saloon girl," Hetty declared. While that made no sense to Callen, it must have to Susie who made a notation on her pad before disappearing back into the crowd.

Hetty poured them each another shot and Callen eyed the glass but didn't reach for it. "Something the matter, Mr. Callen."

Emblazoned by the alcohol, Callen put forth a question to his boss. "You never call me G. I mean I know you explained it is not a name but it's the only one I've got."

"Does that bother you...G?" she inquired stumbling slightly as she tried to use the letter. "If you think about it, the only person who typically calls you 'G' is Sam. Kensi mostly calls you Callen as do Eric and the rest of the technical staff."

Callen contemplated what Hetty said and came to the sad conclusion she was right; he truly had no first name. For some reason that made him feel a little sad so he reached out and downed the shot on the table then held the glass out for a refill. He knew it was not smart to be drinking this heavily, especially on an empty stomach but tonight was about letting go.

"You are right Hetty," he said after downing his drink. "It sounded weird when you called me G. Let's stick with Callen as the informal mode of address; Mr. Callen when I am in trouble." He rose and swayed slightly before quickly catching his balance; only a very experienced eye, such as hers, would detect his was slightly drunk. "I'll be right back."

Hetty watched as Callen made his way thru the crowd towards the men's room and marveled; even slightly buzzed he remained graceful and controlled. She wondered if he knew the attention his rugged good looks were drawing from the wanna-be cowgirls he had to maneuver thru to reach the bathroom. As an agent, who had to always be aware in order to survive, she assumed he did know. Yet typical Callen, he wasn't acknowledging their flirtation other than the normal little smirk he usually wore in these situations.

Hetty's mind wandered off in another direction and she pondered if she was doing right by Callen by not telling him what she knew of his past. Reaching out, she grabbed her glass and drained it. After refilling it, she let it sit on the table while she rested her chin in her upturned hands.

Callen didn't know that she had been his mother's handler. When things had gone wrong in Romania for Clara, Callen's mother, Hetty had been preparing to extract her and the children. However, things had not worked out as planned and in fact had turned disastrous. The end result robbed Callen of his family and started his long journey thru the foster system. Feeling partially responsible, Hetty had tried to do her best by Callen over the years, but he always was and remained a tough challenge. Sighing, she downed her tequila.

Next, Hetty let her mind flip to Sylvia's death and the factoid she hadn't told Callen; she was supposed to have been in the car with Sylvia the night she died. The sisters normally car-pooled to work, but that night, Hetty had decided to work late. The weather had been lousy and Sylvia had argued with Hetty that the case would still be there in the morning, but Hetty, as stubborn back then as she was now, had insisted she had to remain at work. After their slightly heated exchange, Sylvia had left to go home, alone. Hetty wondered if she hadn't been such a work-alcoholic and ambitious to move ahead as quickly as possible, if she had she gone home instead, if things might have ended differently. Maybe the slight change in timing, maybe Hetty driving, maybe a 100 minor differences could have affected the outcome. Hetty sighed. 'What ifs' were a nice distraction for the mind, but didn't change the reality that Sylvia was dead.

A remorse Hetty drank the glass dry again as Callen reappeared at the table simultaneously with Susie, who was delivering their food. Callen slid back onto his chair, and being a bit bratty, turned up his charm and smiled sexily at Susie while thanking her for bringing the food.

After the flustered Susie left, Hetty wagged a slightly trembling finger at Callen. "You are being a scallywag, Mr. Callen."

"How do you figure that Hetty," he asked innocently as he reached for a fully loaded nacho and popped it in his mouth. The chip with its' toppings turned out to be a lot spicier than he anticipated. Callen thought his mouth was on fire. Not thinking too clearly, he reached for the full glass of tequila in front on him and gulped it down adding fuel to the fire so to speak. As his stupidity hit his stomach, he began cursing in Russian.

The queen of the understatement, Hetty guilelessly asked, "Are they hot too? And by that I mean spicy and I am referring to the nachos." Before waiting for the answer, she helped herself to an overflowing chip, popped it in her mouth and crunched happily. Being a showoff, she downed her tequila then daintily wiped her lips with her napkin. "Really, Mr. Callen. They are quite mild. Just a little tease of spice."

Callen stared at her in utter disbelief as tears practically rolled down his face from the four-alarm fire in his belly. "You're a damn witch!"

Hetty leaned forward in a covert manner. "Can you keep a secret?"

Callen gave her a lopsided grin. "I have a badge which says I can," he reminded her smugly. "I'd show you but you made me leave it in the office with my gun and knife."

Hetty thought for a second before nodding seriously. "I trust you. I'm a good judge of character. Oh, by the way, eat a slider. The bun will help with your indigestion." She also poured him another tequila which stupidly, Callen downed. As expected, it did not help his stomach but got him more buzzed so he really didn't care as much. He was used to dealing with pain.

Callen reached out, grabbed one of the sliders and stuffed it in his face then mumbled around his mouthful of food, "So what's the secret?"

"My ancestors did live in Salem. So there is a high probably one of my relatives was witch!" she finished with a little flair. "And twins you know, well that is a sign."

"I knew it!" a drunken Callen crowed as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

Hetty looked at him with curiosity, as she ate a few more nachos. "What's ya doing?" her dictation slipping with her inebriated state.

"Calling Sam. Telling him I'm right. You are a witch." Callen punched Sam's number on speed dial.

Hetty glanced down at her elegant gold watch. "You do know it is after midnight."

The look on Callen's face clearly indicated he was not aware of that fact, but it was too late. The phone was already dialing. "I can't hang up now," he hissed. "It will still show I tried to call and hung up and Sam will know it was me."

Hetty grabbed a slider. "It's not Sam I would be worried about if I were you." She took a bite and watched as a look of terror cross her normally placid agent's face.

"Michelle," Callen mouthed in a stage whisper, before reaching for his glass and draining it. Grabbing the tequila, he refilled his cup which emptied the bottle. "We need another bottle," he proclaimed as he looked around for Susie, momentarily forgetting that he had dialed Sam.

"Do you think that is wise?" Hetty questioned.

Callen didn't think anything he had done this entire night was wise. But before he could formulate a reply, a sleepy sounding voice drifted out of Callen's phone.

"Hello?"

Callen fumbled with his phone, accidentally brushing the speaker button.

"Hello?" a slightly more irritated voice proclaimed over the speaker.

Callen glanced over at Hetty. "Is that Sam or Michelle?" he loudly whispered to his drinking buddy.

Hetty didn't have to reply because the voice did for her. "It's Sam. What the hell do you want G."

In indignation, Callen sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Sheesh Sam. Aren't you gonna ask if I'm alright? It's two o'clock..."

"Twelve," Hetty helpfully corrected.

"...in the morning and you don't know where your partner is. You should be worried Sam," Callen pointed out.

Sam propped himself up in his bed. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be a short conversation, or a sane one. "Are you drunk G?" Sam pointedly asked.

At that moment, Susie walked up to the table. "Darling, did you need something from me," she purred at Callen.

"Where are you?" Sam's voice demanded from the phone.

Callen held up a finger to Susie. "One moment please, Susie. I have to answer Sam. The guy on the phone."

Susie looked down at the phone sitting in the middle of the table amongst the remains of the nachos, sliders and empty glasses. "He sounds kind of pissed to me," she suggested.

Callen shook his head no. "Nah. He always sounds like that. You're not pissed are you Sam?"

Hetty leaned forward and captured Callen's attention. "I'm afraid Susie is correct. Sam is pissed."

"I'm pissed G," Sam's strident voice rang forth.

"Then why did you call me, Sam?" Callen asked, clearly confused.

Sam anger radiated from the phone. "You called me!"

Callen pondered that for a few seconds. "Huh. Well, I don't recall why."

"Hetty," Sam plaintively called out. "Can you shed some light why the hell I am on this phone at 1:00 am. Please," he added as an afterthought."

Hetty glanced at her watch again and discovered she had read it incorrectly. "You are indeed correct, Mr. Hanna. It is 1:00 am."

"We close in an hour," Susie added helpfully.

"Then you better hurry off and get our new bottle," Callen admonished, stopping himself just shy of swatting her on the tuchus.

"Don't you think you have had enough to drink cowboy?" Susie questioned with genuine concern.

"Are you calling me from a bar, Callen? You and Hetty are in bar?" Sam asked incredulously.

Hetty and Callen gave each other guilty glances but remained silent. "Cacti. On Sunset. I'm one of the waitresses," Susie supplied when the two agents remained mute.

Callen suddenly decided full disclosure was his best recourse at this point. "It's a cowboy bar full of," Callen groped for a word and finally settled on the obvious, "cowboys, Sam."

"It has a mechanical bull," Hetty cheerfully added. "A really, big one," she added drawling out the word 'big'.

Despite the hour of the night, a slight hint of amusement crept into Sam's voice regarding his friend's situation. "I see. Hey Susie."

"Yes, Sam," Susie answered picking up his name from the conversation.

"You said you are the waitress?" Sam double-checked.

Susie nodded her head, not that Sam could see. "Yes I am."

"In your professional opinion are my friends drunk?"

"In my professional opinion? I'd have to say drunker than a skunk," she confirmed happily.

"Does this mean no more bottles of scotch?" Hetty asked mournfully.

"Tequila, Hetty. We're drinking tequila to honor the fact it is a cowboy bar. Remember?" Callen corrected.

"I stand corrected. Again," she acquiesced. "Actually I sit corrected."

Callen got gleefully animated. "Hear that Sam? Hetty is WRONG!" Callen punched the word hard. "Wrong, wrong, wrong," he repeated like a five-year-old. He paused for a moment, and then got animated again. "Oh and I remember why I called now! Hetty is a bitch!"

Silence settled over the table for a moment at Callen's faux pas. It took Callen a few seconds to process his last statement and another few to figure out what went wrong. "Sorry, I meant witch," but his buzzed state made his apologize sound far from sincere. "Her ancestors came over on the pilgrim boat and lived in Salem. We finally have proof she is a witch," he slowly and carefully spelled the word.

Though Callen couldn't see, Sam was sadly shaking his head in his bed. "G? Buddy."

"Yeah my favorite partner in the whole world," Callen sentimentally replied.

"Do me a favor." Sam was trying to determine if his boss was about to shoot his partner for his prior statement.

"What?" Callen asked leaning towards the phone.

"Take a close look at Hetty. What is she doing?"

Callen stared across the table at his boss assessing her. "She is sitting in her chair, hands folded, staring at me with a little cocky smile."

"Is there anything in her hands?" Sam asked in a slightly amused tone.

"No," Callen returned at first. "No wait, wait there is something in her hand!" Callen's voice raised in panic. "No! No Hetty! Put it down. No! Please!"

"G! G! What's going on?" Sam's panicked voice came thru the speaker.

With all the indignation he could muster in his drunken state, Callen replied, "She ate the last slider, Sam!"

Sam groaned in his bedroom and his wife poked her head up. "Everything Ok, Sam?"

Not that it really mattered, but Sam covered the speaker with his hand. "My Boss and my partner are at a cowboy bar on Sunset, drunk as a skunk according to Susie."

"And Susie is who?" Michelle sleepily questioned.

"The waitress," Sam supplied.

Michelle rolled over and dropped her head back on her pillow. "How are they getting home?"

Leave it to his wife to be practical. Sam asked the question to his long distant colleagues. "Hey G. How do you plan to get home?"

Callen turned to ask Hetty, but she had wandered away from the table. The blond agent thought a bit more about the question and then remembered the answer. "We are being responsible. We are taking a cab but have it drop us off a few blocks away for you know why reasons."

Michelle, who had been monitoring the conversation since she couldn't sleep until this inane episode was over, said, "Not a good idea, Sam."

Sam nodded his head in agreement to his wife. "Ah-huh G. I'll tell you what. I'll come pick you up. Just stay there. Don't go anywhere."

"That's really cool of you, buddy," Callen returned cheerfully. "Let me tell Hetty. Hey Hetty?" Callen looked around, but still he didn't see her.

Susie, who had been too fascinated by the conversation to leave, pointed out to Callen where Hetty was located. "She is over there by the mechanical bull. I think she is arguing with that guy. Oh, I think she just kicked him."

"I gotta go Sam," Callen shouted bolting from his seat and running towards Hetty.

"G! G! Damn! What is going on now?" Sam's frustrated voice yelled thru the speaker.

"Ah Sam, this is Susie. Your male friend just went to defend your female friend who just started a fight with a guy three times her size."

Sam sighed. The poor bastard had no idea what he was in for; Hetty would annihilate him, even drunk. "Look Susie. I'm coming to get them but it is going to take me forty-five minutes to get there. Please do me two favors. No more alcohol for either of them and keep them from leaving."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Susie asked.

"Handcuff them to something. I'm sure one of them has a pair," Sam flippantly replied.

"Kinky! I'll do my best. Oh there goes Ralph to break up the fight," Susie said with a touch of awe. "Ralph, the bouncer, not the bull," she added which made no sense to Sam but he didn't really care at this point. "Leaving now Susie. Thanks." Sam pushed off and climbed out of bed, after giving Michelle a kiss. "I should get a medal for this," he grumbled.

"So should I," Michelle complained as she pulled the covers over her head.

* * *

_A/N - First, thanks for the follows and reviews. Second, I know I probably stepped over the line a bit allowing Callen and Hetty get drunk in a bar. It's a bit out of character but it was fun to write. Oh one last thing. The title was H+MB+T=BF. Like an equation. However, the software didn't like the pluses and removed them. So much for trying to be clever. Sigh._


	4. Chapter 4

While Sam and Callen were chatting on the phone, Hetty decided she needed to make a trip to the little girl's room so she left the table. Coming out of the facilities, she wandered over towards Ralph the bull. After watching a few men bite the dust, she decided she wanted to ride the bull, for Sylvia, and took her place in line.

As she stepped into the queue, the six foot two cowboy in front of her turned around, looked down at her and snorted. "Lady, this ain't the line for the powder room."

"Well that's good because I don't have to go, thank you," Hetty returned politely.

The man gave her an odd look assuming she must have somehow misunderstood him. "This is the line to ride the bull."

Hetty smiled. "Oh goody. Then I am in the right place."

A guffaw erupted from behind her where another wanna-be cowboy was bent over slapping his thighs in mirth.

"Something funny," Hetty asked with a dangerous edge to her voice. A lot of unpleasantness might have been avoided had the two laughing cowboys caught it.

The guy in front of her stopped chuckling long enough to say, "I'm pretty sure there is a height requirement." That set off the other cowboy laughing again.

Hetty calmly shook her head though the dangerous glint remained in her blue eyes. "No. I checked."

The fore and aft cowboys looked at each other in amazement over her head. Finally, the one in the rear said, "Listen lady. You can't ride the bull."

Hetty pulled herself up tall and threw all her authority in her voice. "I fully intend to ride that bull and neither you," she gave the first cowboy a withering look, "or you," she gave the second cowpoke the death glare, "are in any position to stop me."

That is when the men made their final, fatal mistake. "Listen here, Granny," the first one started as the both reached out and placed a hand on Hetty's arm.

What happened after that would become an urban legend in that bar; the story told night after night to unbelieving patrons. As the legend goes a four foot high, ancient ninja warrior, along with her young, handsome protégé, laid out more than a dozen gigantic men in an epic battle. The legend states that the ninja warrior fought with the fury of a mother lion protecting her cubs. Though diminutive, the she-warrior easily brought down men twice her size with no effort, using her magical prowess. Her trusty side-kick did some impressive damage himself until Ralph, the bouncer not the bull, unexpectedly caught him from behind. With one hand, Ralph had lifted the handsome sidekick aloft and slid him face first along the top of the bar, much to the managements (a.k.a. his father's) dismay. The sidekick slid down the slick surface as smooth as silk, dislodging beer glasses with his head before flying off the end of the bar and landing in a heap on the wooden floor. The legend ends with the ninja warrior walking proudly from the bar with her trusty companion limping at her side, off into the sunset.

It was a cool legend which did contain some elements of truth. Where it went wrong was it neglected to clarify that Hetty, a.k.a. the ninja warrior, started the fight by kicking the two cowboys in their privates with enough force to make them sing soprano. Things might have ended right there had it not been for the trusty sidekick, a.k.a Callen, deciding he need to protect Hetty's honor and he choose to do that by punching two more cowboys. Unfortunately, the two cowboys he picked had nothing to do with the original altercation. Their only crime was standing too near the first two cowboys Hetty had decked. Needless to say, they hadn't taken kindly to being punched for no reason, even at a cowboy bar. From there, all hell had broken out.

The other part of the legend that was slightly skewed was the ninja and the sidekick riding off into the sunset. First, it was after midnight so there was no sun. However, in a way, Hetty and Callen almost did ride off into the sunset, in the back of a police cruiser. Only Sam's timely arrival and a lot of pleading and calling in favors, kept Hetty and Callen from spending the night in jail. A large check from Hetty to the proprietor of the bar for damages also helped.

When Sam got things straightened out, he found Hetty and Callen by the EMT vehicle that had been summoned to the scene. Hetty was holding Callen in a rather nasty grip while the EMT cleaned the cut on his forehead over his left eye. When it was bandaged, Hetty released her death grip on her recalcitrant agent.

Sam walked up to his two disheveled co-workers about to tell them to go and get in the car when the police sergeant on duty beckoned again. "You two sit here on the curb and stay. Don't go anywhere. Don't talk to anyone. Hell, don't even look at anyone. Stare at your shoes. Got it!"

The two embattled warriors nodded meekly and did as instructed. Sam went off to talk to the cops again, the ambulance left and the area in front of the bar cleared out.

"You know," Hetty said conversationally to Callen as they sat side by side on the curb. "I didn't get to ride the bull."

"No you didn't," Callen solemnly concurred.

Hetty wearily sighed, still staring at her shoes per Sam's instructions. "I really wanted to ride the bull. For Sylvia."

Callen, who was still less than sober, felt remorse for his boss. Her request wasn't outrageous and had been spoiled by a bunch of ignoramuses. Breaking Sam's rules, Callen looked up and scanned the area around them. It looked deserted except for the two policemen and Sam, who were a ways off to the left. The bar signs were all shut off and it too looked desolate.

"Come on," Callen said rising to his feet and holding a hand out to assist Hetty.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she took his hand and clambered to her feet.

"You wanna ride the bull," he replied moving towards the alley that led to the back of the bar. "You're gonna ride the bull."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam watched as the last police car, containing the officers with whom he had been negotiating, pull away from the front of the now empty bar. Thank goodness Hetty and Callen had been smart enough to leave their weapons in the office or who knows what would have happened at Cacti tonight. As it was, Sam had to do a lot of sweet talking and throw some names around he knew in the LAPD, to get Hetty and Callen off the hook.

Sam did a quick scan of his surroundings as he walked towards where he had left the dynamic duo sitting on the curb. Of course, it was deserted. "Damn!" he swore, though he really wasn't all that surprised they were missing. Those two were not known to follow the rules when they were sober; why the hell did he think they would listen when they were drunk?

A quick glance to his left showed they hadn't stolen his Challenger, a plus. That meant they were on foot and hopefully didn't get far. In the stillness of the night, Sam thought he detected the faint sound emanating from the alley next to the bar.

Cautiously, Sam made his way down the dark passageway between the buildings, to the rear of Cacti. In the dim light, he saw his two missing captives, one standing watch and the other fiddling with a door that had to go back into the bar. Angry, he strode up behind them growling, "What the hell are you two doing now?"

Hetty turned calmly to acknowledge Sam's presence. "You know Mr. Hanna, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that. I might have shot you."

"You couldn't," Sam replied drily. "You have no weapons. You thankfully, left them back at the office. And if you tell me you have stolen new ones, I am leaving you here. I had to dance enough tonight to keep you two out of jail."

"He's got you there, Hetty," Callen tossed back over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the door.

Sam moved closer to inspect what Callen was doing. "What are you up to, G?"

Callen kept right on doing what he was doing, as he answered. "Hetty didn't get to ride the bull." A small smile crossed Callen's face as he heard a familiar click and the door knob turned.

"G! That door is probably wired!" Sam said in an alarmed tone as his partner further turned the knob and opened the door.

Callen walked through the door. "It is. Alarm panel is right here," he confidently indicated walking over to it. "I checked it out when I went to the men's room earlier. Ya know. Just in case."

"Just in case you have to break into a bar that has a mechanical bull," Sam retorted sarcastically.

"Yep." Callen peered at the control panel in the low light.

Sam grew concerned as the seconds ticked by. "You can disarm it, can't you?"

"Of course. Well, maybe," he added under his breath. "Be prepared to run just in case." Reaching over, he played with the panel then punched in a code. The ominous, blinking, red light went green. Callen turned to face Sam, a big smirk on his face. "See, no sweat."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How did you know the code?"

Hetty cleared her voice. "I may have mentioned it to him after I inadvertently saw it in the manager's office. You know it is very bad protocol to write passwords down yet so many people do it."

"And it is very bad protocol to snoop in someone's desk," Sam retorted. He debated asking Hetty what she was doing in the manager's office but decided against it because he was sure she would have an odd but reasonable explanation. "Ok Bonnie and Clyde. Let's go home."

"No," Callen said striding across the darkness to the main area. "Hetty needs to ride Ralph."

"Indeed I do," Hetty said gleefully rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

Callen walked over to a panel on the wall, flicked a few switches and the lights came on in the 'bull pen'. He then moved to the controls that operated the bull and studied it a bit. Hetty and Sam joined him.

"It requires a key to operate. Let's go," Sam instructed after quickly glancing at the panel.

Callen reached into his pocket, withdraw a key and held it aloft. "You mean this one?"

Sam glared at his partner. "Really G? Do I want to do how you got that?"

Callen gave a small shrug. "Old habits die-hard."

"Hetty. Come on. You know this is a bad idea," Sam pleaded. However, Hetty, who had been standing next to him five seconds ago, had vanished. "Where the hell..." Sam scanned the area and discovered where she had gone; she was astride the bull.

"Let her rip, Mr. Callen," she stridently commanded.

Sam, still trying to be the voice of reason, attempted to dissuade Callen. "She's drunk G. What if she breaks her neck? You gonna explain to Director Vance that you helped her break into a bar to ride a mechanical bull?"

Callen looked at Sam, then over at Hetty. "This is for Sylvia," he declared as he pushed the start button. The bull was set on 'amateur' and Hetty easily rode it to the end of the cycle.

Even though Sam knew it wasn't going to work, he gave it the old college try. "Ok Hetty," he said walking over to the bull. "You had your ride. Now it's time to go before we all end up in jail." He expectantly held a hand out to assist her off Ralph.

"Crank her up a notch," she hollered over to Callen, before glancing down at Sam from her perch upon Ralph's broad, black back. "I suggest you move back a pace or two Mr. Hanna."

"Hetty," his voice and eyes pleaded with her but the stare he received brooked no arguments so he stepped outside the pen.

Callen flipped the switch and Ralph started his wild gyrations again. A huge smile graced Hetty's face as she hung on like a tick with one hand, waved the other in the air and raked the side of the bull with the proper heel pattern. When the bull stopped, Hetty was still triumphantly on top.

"There's one more level," Callen called out and if Sam had been close enough he would have smacked his partner, hard.

By happenstance, Sam glanced across the room at the entryway and thought he saw lights in the parking lot. "We might have company," he hissed gesturing towards the door.

Callen immediately doused the lights, while Hetty called over to Sam for assistance in debarking from Ralph. Sam grappled Hetty down off the bull without much finesse and literally shoved her under a booth. Hetty obligingly moved as far back as possible allowing the darkness to conceal her. Sam did the same thing under a second booth though it was a lot harder for him to squeeze his bulk into the cramped space. Callen swept the area one more time to make sure they didn't leave any evidence of their activities before he too concealed himself, only seconds before the front door swung open.

In the silent darkness, the hidden agents heard whoever was at the door move through the lobby before heading over to disengage the alarm. Callen wondered if the person would realize the alarm was not quite properly set. However, luck was with them and the person simply entered the code to shut the system down without giving the panel a second glance. After that was done, the person flicked a set of switches and overhead lights near the bar came on illuminating the area.

The trio could now see the visitor was the owner. He strode over to the bar and rummaged around behind it for a few minutes before muttering, "Here it is," and holding up a cell phone. He pocketed the device, retraced his steps, shut down the lights, re-engaged the alarm system and left.

"Don't move," Callen softly called out after the door shut.

A few minutes of silence reigned before Sam, who had long since lost his patience with this night's escapades asked, "Are you done sitting here in the dark, contemplating the meaning of life, at 2:00 am, in a cowboy bar, in the middle of LA, G?"

Callen looked blankly at Sam. "I can't remember."

"Remember what?" Sam inquired his voice indicating his patience was gone.

"If the bar has motion sensors. If so, we might have a little problem," Callen thoughtfully replied.

"We wouldn't have any problem if we had gone home like I suggested," Sam scathingly pointed out.

Hetty started crawling forward, out from under her table.

Sam saw the Ops manager moving. "What are you doing, Hetty?"

"Seeing if there are motion sensors," she succinctly answered as she continued to crawl.

"How? By setting them off?" Sam couldn't believe what she was doing.

"Exactly, Mr. Hanna. If they should go off, I suggest you be ready to run like the hounds of hell are in pursuit." Reaching the end of the table, Hetty crawled into the clear and stood. She took a few cautious steps but no sirens went off. Smiling over her shoulder at Sam and Callen, she continued walking.

Sam started crawling forward to get out of his hiding place as Hetty continued moving towards the bar. Suddenly a piercing siren went off and Hetty cursed. "Damn."

When the alarm went off, Sam reared up and smacked his head on the underside of the table. His language was not complimentary and he wished he had let his boss and partner get arrested earlier by the police.

"Run!" Hetty needlessly instructed as she sprinted at an amazing rate towards the rear door of the establishment.

Callen wasn't far behind her, leaving Sam last off the blocks. The three burst out the back door into the alley behind the bar.

"Where is the car, Mr. Hanna?" Hetty asked as she paused for a second.

Sam gestured to the front of the building and Hetty began moving in that direction. When she came around the front corner of the bar she spotted the Challenger in the glow of the street light and altered her course. "Shot gun!" she called out over her shoulder.

Callen, who was running next to Sam, nearly tripped when he heard her proclamation. "She has got to be joking!" he huffed. "She's four feet tall and she wants me to climb in the back!"

When the two arrived at the Challenger, Hetty was there with the passenger seat flipped forward so Callen could climb in the rear seat.

"Really Hetty?" Callen complained coming to a halt alongside the car while Sam made his way to the driver's side.

"Really, Mr. Callen. And I did call it," she said in a reasonable tone with just an undertone of glee. The Ops Manager and her agent stared at each other. "Do I have to pull rank on you?" she threatened.

"No way," Callen shook his head. "We're off duty. There is no rank."

"Oh my dear Mr. Callen, there is always rank in this world," she retorted with a hint of menace in her reply.

The sound of a police siren cut thru the night. "If you two don't get in the car, you are going to be arguing over who gets the top bunk in a jail cell." Sam slid in behind the wheel. "Get in!"

Hetty stood there patiently gazing at Callen, showing no signs of giving up her seat, as the siren grew louder.

"Damn it," the blond swore as he finally moved to wiggle into the back seat.

After he was in, Hetty got in, reached underneath her seat and shoved it back into Callen's knees.

"Hey!" he cried out in pain as the seat slammed into his knee caps.

"And I am four foot nine inches, Mr. Callen," she sweetly informed him.

"With bat ears. Witch," he muttered under his breath. Callen sat sulking the back seat knowing he had just been reprimanded, Hetty style, for his earlier flip comment on her stature.

It made sense to drop Callen off first so Sam headed in that direction which also was away from the direction of the sirens.

A little while later, Sam pulled up in front of Callen's bungalow and shut off the engine. Callen, who had been cat napping in the back seat, instantly, woke up.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty. We're home," Sam quipped.

Never the most cheerful person when first awoken, Callen was even more surly being somewhat inebriated. He glared over the back of the seat at Hetty's head. "You gonna let me out, Hetty? Or am I gonna have to crawl out the window?"

"Oh, there are more options than that," and she cheerfully went on to list them. "You could crawl out the trunk, though that would wreck Sam's car. Or you could try to crawl out the window but I have serious doubts you'd fit and you'd probably injure yourself necessitating a trip to the hospital."

"No hospitals," Callen automatically injected.

"Or," Hetty added ignoring his interjection, "you could climb out the sunroof."

"The car doesn't have a sunroof," Sam flatly stated.

Hetty glanced at Sam, then the car's roof. "Huh. I guess I couldn't get a good deal on that option." Hetty opened her door, stepped out and stood expectantly on the sidewalk.

Snaking his hand around to the side of the front seat, Callen pressed the lever, shoved it forward then struggled to get out. He finally extracted himself, and then stood on the sidewalk staring at his diminutive boss. His anger dissipated and he grew serious. "Did we honor her memory?"

A sad, little, smile graced Hetty's age-worn face. "I don't think Sylvia could have asked for a better tribute."

Unconsciously, Callen ran a light hand over the cut on his brow. "You know we are banned from that bar for the rest of our lives."

"Indeed. I also suspect I might have to do some more smoothing over with my friends in the LAPD tomorrow," Hetty sighed then grinned. "But it was worth it. Thank you G."

Callen gave his boss a genuine smile. "I had fun, sort of. And Hetty?"

She looked at him expectantly.

"You don't have to call me G. Somehow from you it just sounds, well wrong."

"What do you expect? It is just a letter not a name," she reminded him. "It is hard to do it justice." She knew a lot of secrets about Callen, ones he didn't even know himself, but his name wasn't one of them.

"If you two are done having a kumbaya moment, could you get in the car Hetty. I'd like to get home to my beautiful wife before it is time to leave for work," Sam complained from the car.

"Pick me up in the morning, Sam?" Callen half-asked, half-told his partner.

"I should have dropped Hetty off first and then just slept here. By the time I get home..."

"Yeah, yeah. It will be time to come back and get me. I don't know how Michelle puts up with you," Callen said with a choirboy expression on his face. With a little wave, he turned and walked into his house.

"I'm going to kill him some day," Sam muttered as Hetty got into the car.

"I highly doubt that, Mr. Hanna. You are too good a friend and brother to our Mr. Callen. You are the anchor that holds him steady."

Sam grunted as he started the car, but secretly he was pleased with Hetty's words. He did think of Callen as a brother, even if he did want to disown him at times.

"Guess this is one for the record books. Me having to rescue the infamous Hetty," Sam said conversationally as he got back on the highway.

Hetty gave him a sideways glance. "I suppose that is one interpretation of the night's events."

"But I'm gathering, not how you see it," Sam surmised.

"Well, it is certainly more pleasant driving home in your meticulously clean car than a dirty old cab. And most definitely better than having to walk half a mile home because I can't have the cab deliver me to my front door," Hetty added.

"But," Sam prompted.

Hetty looked at him calmly. "But, I had everything under control at the bar."

Sam snorted as he took the exit ramp off the highway. "Yeah? Not how it looked from my perspective. When I drove up, the place was crawling with police cars, Callen was in the process of being slid face first down the bar and you..." Sam paused for a moment to reflect.

"Yes, and I?" Hetty prompted with an insidious little smile.

Shaking his head, Sam sighed heavily. She had done it to him again. "You had cowboy King Kong pinned to the ground."

"So in reality, it was your partner that needed rescuing not me," she smugly concluded.

Being loyal to his partner, Sam said, "I'm sure G would have triumphed in the end."

Hetty nodded her head in concurrence. "I am sure of that too. But at what cost? Mr. Callen is, shall we say, a bit injury prone."

"But what about the police?" Sam suddenly countered. "They were ready to haul you off to jail."

Hetty made a rude noise with her lips. "You got to them first, that's all. I would have had those puppies running for home with their tails between their legs."

Sam had to agree. Everyone obeyed Hetty in the end.

The Challenger pulled up in front of Hetty's house and Sam shut down the engine. "Home sweet home."

Hetty grinned and then reached over and laid her hand on Sam's arm. "However, with all that being said, thank you for rescuing us. Perhaps I did let things," she raised her hand and held her thumb and forefinger up about an inch apart, "get a little out of hand."

Sam chuckled himself. "Hetty, plus tequila, plus mechanical bull equals bar fight."

"Yes it does," she answered philosophically. "I guess that is one for the rule book." Reaching over, she opened the car door and started to alight before halting for a moment. "Sam, your heart is as big as the ocean. Don't ever let that change." With that, she got out of the car and went into her home.

Sam looked at the clock and saw it was 4:00 am. He hoped Michelle's heart was being generous tonight or he'd be spending the last few hours before dawn on the couch in the den. With a sigh, he turned on the car and headed home.

* * *

_A/N: Quick epilogue and we are done. While it would have been fun to have one more chapter of 'the day after at the office', time doesn't permit it. Thanks to all that read and reviewed. Always room for more reviews. Also, thanks to the NCIS LA Magazine crew for the inspirational idea. It was on my 'to do list' to write something like this but their challenge got it from thoughts to e-paper._


	6. Chapter 6

EPILOGUE

Hetty sat in the den, in her favorite chair, attired in her blue silk nightgown and pink bunny slippers, sipping a cup of tea. In her free hand she held a picture of her and Sylvia.

"I wish you could have met him, all of them, Sylvia. They are a very special team, especially him. I hope I am doing right by not revealing what I know yet. I am afraid if I do, he will run off and get himself killed; though I am not sure his enemies aren't already closing in on him. I may be forced to take matters into my own hands, Sylvia. A preemptive strike. That would not be without danger to me, but I'm no strange to danger or death and I owe it to Clara. I couldn't save her, but I'll be damned if I let her boy die under my watch."

Hetty put the picture back down and held her tea cup in both hands, savoring the warmth, as she let her mind wander. Yes, maybe she would have to act. Maybe a trip to Romania to end this once and forever. She had a few things to put in order first, but then, it was time.

The End


End file.
